The Debutante Is Mine (3 page)

Needing the answer inspired Jack not to simply
send
the flowers by courier but to deliver them himself.

“I’d say Vale proved his equation well enough by using it to find his own bride. And he wasted no time in marrying her,” Thayne continued, drawing Jack’s attention.

“Uncharacteristically impulsive of him, if you ask me.” The entire episode struck Jack as odd. Normally, the Duke of Vale was a stoic, rational man. Yet that night, his friend had been so clearly in love that even a cynic like Jack had seen it for what it was.
Poor wretch.

It wasn’t that Jack didn’t believe in love. In fact, he often quipped about falling in love.
True love
, however, was different. True love left carnage in its wake. And Jack wanted no part of that idiocy.

Stopping near their mounts, Jack tied the flowers to his saddle. Then he paid the boy who’d been watching their horses before setting his foot into the stirrup.

Thayne mounted beside him. “I think Vale’s hasty marriage displayed a sound belief in his work. I, for one, will use it when it is my turn at the gallows. No messy courting for me, thank you. I’d much rather have the assurance of compatibility on paper beforehand, instead of learning of the lack of it later.”

Thayne clearly wasn’t in his right mind this morning. His encounter with Lady Granworth must have loosened a hinge or two. Therefore, Jack—friend that he was—couldn’t pass up this opportunity to mock him. “Now that you have a title to uphold, do you plan to marry and produce a legitimate heir?”

Thayne gripped the reins and offered a solemn nod. “It is expected.”

Having anticipated a jest in return, those words went sour in Jack’s ears. The rules by which the aristocracy lived infuriated him. His own mother had been left with nothing because of these rules. And because of love. “By all means, you nobles must do what is
expected
.”

Thayne jerked his head so fast in Jack’s direction it looked as he’d been struck. “ ‘Noble,’ ha! You have more noble blood in your right foot than I do in my entire person. I inherited my title from a distant fourth cousin, whom I’d never met. You, on the other hand, are the Earl of Dovermere’s son.”

Careful not to spur Bellum to a gallop, Jack gritted his teeth and felt his jaw twitch. “No, I’m his bastard. There is a difference.”

“Hardly. He’s acknowledged you openly.”

And what a happy day that had been
, Jack thought wryly.

It wasn’t until he was ten years old that he’d first met Dovermere. That day, the man had gone pale and still the instant he’d clapped eyes on Jack. Other than the sudden pallor of his countenance, an uncanny likeness—one that even a boy could see—had shined through.

“Then it is true,”
Dovermere had said, his voice gravelly and somewhat haunted. He’d looked past Jack to Mother but did not say a word before turning on his heel and disappearing into his carriage.

The day after, Jack had found himself in that same carriage on the way to Eton and, shortly thereafter, to a brutal initiation from a few of his fellow students.

“The only reason he has acknowledged me is because he has eight legitimate daughters,” Jack said. “If he had a son—”

“And he does. Yet you cannot put your prejudice for the aristocracy aside. Lately, I often wonder how long it will be until you treat
me
like the enemy as well.”

If nothing else, Jack was loyal to his friends. Had he not kept Vale as a friend after he’d inherited a dukedom? Or Wolford, when he’d become an earl? Jack was willing to overlook Thayne’s unfortunate circumstance as well. “What has put you so high on your horse and turned you into such an arse, Thayne?”

“Forgive me. I’ve been on edge these past few months. And now it appears that I must see my solicitor about purchasing a house.”

“I’m sure your ill humor could have nothing to do with Lady Granworth’s return to London,” Jack said, goading his friend with a lift of his brows.

“There.” Thayne’s tone sharpened to a razor’s edge. “We have both drawn blood. Now we are on even footing.”

Jack exchanged a glance and a nod with Thayne. All was forgiven, until the next time temptation got the better of them. “Good. I shall leave you to your errand. I have a call to pay.”

He looked at the name on the card once more before tucking it away. Soon, he would uncover the mystery surrounding
Miss Lilah Appleton
.

A
short time after arriving at Aunt Zinnia’s townhouse on Hanover Street that morning, Lilah discovered that there was, in fact, something worse than having no gentlemen callers waiting in the parlor.

And that was having a room
full
of gentlemen.

And then witnessing their collective looks of disappointment when she entered the room. Naturally, those expressions altered to pleasure once Juliet followed.

Zinnia, Lady Cosgrove, rose gracefully from the jonquil-patterned upholstered armchair, which was the focal point of the violet parlor. She took great pride in her carriage and in keeping her figure well into her middle years. Her countenance and her precise coiffure conveyed elegance and composure. But her sharp bone structure and even the streaks of silver in her dark blonde hair conveyed an unmistakable edge of sternness underneath. Lifting a slender arm, she extended her palm in a wave toward Lilah and Juliet. “And here is my lovely niece and my cousin. Thankfully, they aren’t
overly
tardy.”

The mantel clock was only now chiming eleven. To Aunt Zinnia, however, being on time meant being a quarter of an hour early.

In the seconds that had transpired, neither Juliet nor Lilah made an excuse for their late arrival or mentioned the encounter with the Marquess of Thayne. Although every time Lilah closed her eyes on a blink, she could still see the man on the Destrier as if both were present in this very room.

Of course, that would make for quite a crowded parlor
, she mused, almost smiling at her own jest. Her thoughts often vacillated from levity to worry when she was uncomfortable. And right now, facing a room full of men made her quite nervous.

The gentlemen all stood at once and bowed. It should have been thrilling. At last, it seemed possible that Lilah could escape the dire fate that awaited her. She might actually find a husband before the end of her third Season and not be forced to marry Winthrop.

Yet as she rose from her curtsy, she worried about all the things that could go wrong. She could trip on her way to the settee, bumping her knee and collapsing against the low table, effectively scattering dishes, spilling the tea, and toppling the biscuits and tarts from the tiered tray. Aunt Zinnia would be mortified.

Lilah blinked. Thankfully, she was still standing in the same spot. Collecting herself, she brushed the imaginary carnage from her skirts with one careful swipe. Her gaze drifted to the bouquets clasped firmly in the gentlemen’s grips.

Flowers?

Oh dear . . . She could sneeze and have a dozen handkerchiefs presented to her at once. Which one would she choose?

Then again, she could sneeze and have
no
handkerchiefs presented to her—which seemed far more likely.

Best not sneeze
, she warned herself.

Distracted by the cheerful blossoms, she allowed herself to wonder if it was possible that one gentleman in this very room might present
her
with flowers. The notion sent a tiny jolt of alarm through her. She thought she’d prepared herself for callers. Apparently not. Neither, it seemed, had she prepared herself for receiving flowers.

Did one merely say
thank you
and blush demurely? Did one praise the blossoms for their beauty or instead extend compliments to the gentleman on his keen eye for color? Did one remark on the size of the bouquet and compare it to the others? No, surely not.

After all, her brother had once told her that men were rather sensitive about comparisons. At least, that was the reason he’d given her when she’d asked why there were so many men who disliked him. She’d often wondered what object they’d been comparing.

“It is a pleasure to see you again,” Lord Pembroke said, his nasal tone breaking Lilah away from her thoughts. He lifted a cluster of violets, a few of them wilting over his fingers. But that didn’t matter. Until this moment, Lilah had had no idea that she’d made an impression on him. Then he pushed the flowers out of her reach, grazing her shoulder, and concluded his greeting by saying, “Lady Granworth.”

Pembroke’s actions started a melee of sorts. The gentlemen were eager to raise their bouquets and offer their effusive compliments to Juliet. Considering her cousin was newly back in London and past the period of mourning, this was to be expected. Only . . . Lilah wished
she
had expected it. An abundance of callers but apparently none for her.

She tried to step out of the way. Then suddenly, a bunch of fragrant white hyacinths appeared before
her
face. She gasped with pleasure. Which gentleman’s hand held the precious gift? As they were all crowded into one space, she couldn’t tell. However, that didn’t matter. All that did were these pretty little blossoms. She reached up to take them. “Thank you so very much. I don’t really know what to say—”

Abruptly, the flowers were tugged out of her grasp. “My mistake, miss,” someone said and proceeded to nudge her out of the way.

Lilah stumbled back, the corner of a gilded milieu table striking the outer curve of her bottom. A hiss left her lips as she eased away. Not that anyone noticed.

“Gentlemen, if you please,” Aunt Zinnia scolded. The austerity in her tone commanded instant respect, and the men, in turn, resumed their seats. “Myrtle, please see that the flowers find vases,” she said to the maid who was hunched slightly forward and lingering near the door. And just when Lilah was beginning to wonder if her aunt had noticed that all of the bouquets were for Juliet, her aunt added, “And place them in the upstairs sitting room.”

A room none of them frequented due to its poor lighting and lingering mildew odor. It was as good as banishing the flowers. Since her aunt was not an affectionate person—similar to her sister, Lilah’s mother, in that regard—this likely was her way of offering support. Lilah’s heart warmed.

Crossing the room toward the settee, she intended to sit between her aunt and her cousin. She needed to nurse her sore bottom on a soft surface. Unfortunately, once Juliet sat on one of the settee’s cushions, Lord Pembroke quickly took the other. This left Lilah to take the only vacant seat remaining—the spindle chair near the door. Make that the
hard
spindle chair. She did her best not to wince when she sat down.

From that point on, both her cousin and aunt set about reintroducing Lilah to every man present. Lord Ellery was among them. He was the only one in the room who didn’t require a wealthy bride. And, as luck would have it, his country estate in Surrey bordered her family’s land.

After Jasper’s death, her father’s death, and the subsequent reading of the will, Lilah’s primary hope was not only to find a gentleman to marry, but to marry one who could help her improve the lives of the tenants residing on her family’s land. Viscount Ellery was the perfect candidate.

Now, if only she could get him to remember her for more than a single minute.

Juliet seemed to share the same thoughts, because she turned toward the viscount. “Did you know that Miss Appleton lives very near your country estate, Lord Ellery?”

When Juliet offered a smile, Lord Ellery’s eyes went round and vacant. “Miss Appleton?”

Juliet gestured toward Lilah, her brow slightly, albeit prettily, knitted. Lilah imagined that her cousin, up until now, hadn’t completely believed the claims of empty parlors and forgetful gentlemen. Blatant proof, however, was difficult to deny.

After another brief introduction, Aunt Zinnia and Juliet directed conversation in clever ways to ascertain each gentleman’s interest in marriage, learning their family pedigree, fortunes, and so forth.

Lilah had observed this type of inquisition before from many of the
ton
’s matrons in various ballroom settings and social gatherings. Yet Aunt Zinnia was one of the best. Once subjected to her subtle barrage of questions, a gentleman had no hope of withholding anything worth knowing. It was usually entertaining to watch.

This time, however, Lilah was feeling a bit overwhelmed and a bit wounded by the events of the past few minutes. Rising carefully, she excused herself from the room, stating a need to ensure there were enough tarts and biscuits to withstand the onslaught of callers. Even now, her words were accompanied by the pounding of the doorknocker. Soon, there would be more than twenty men crowded into the small parlor.

Lilah knew she wouldn’t be missed.

After informing a vase-toting Myrtle of the low supply of refreshments, Lilah walked straight down the hall to the garden door and slipped outside to her walled haven.

Once in her favorite spot beneath the arbor, she drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. The air was chilly, but there was no breeze to make her too cold without a shawl. Overhead, clematis and rose vines were still brown and dormant. On the ground beside the stone path at her feet, a myriad of crocuses bloomed gaily, while tulip shoots were coming into their full height, hinting at their splendor. And halfway up, between the white arbor post and the slatted wooden bench, a spider’s web fanned out, its occupant hidden from view.

She was just leaning closer to study it when she heard the door open and close with a quiet click. Assuming it was Myrtle on an errand for Aunt Zinnia, Lilah didn’t bother to turn. “You may tell my aunt that I will return shortly. I have need of a breath of air.”

“Do you breathe better when you’re bent at the waist?” a man’s deep voice asked.

Startled, Lilah jerked upright, whipping around to face the stranger.

Only he wasn’t quite a
stranger
. She’d seen him before. In fact, not more than an hour ago. And he looked just as out of place in this manicured garden as his Destrier had trotting along the London streets. She imagined, however, that man and beast would look perfectly at home galloping across an untamed moor or into battle. The man had a feral, warrior look about him. Especially with the golden, hot-ember color of his eyes beneath the arch of a tawny brow. And instead of walking with perfect pedestrian form, he
prowled
toward her—agile but controlled, as if always prepared for battle.

Beneath a gray tailored coat, his broad shoulders subtly rolled and shifted. The black buttons of his striped waistcoat were in a flat, straight line, suggesting a firmness, about which she likely shouldn’t ponder. The same way she should not admire the storm-cloud gray shade of his riding breeches and the way they encased his thighs, displaying every gradation of his impressive musculature.

When her gaze dipped, she also took note of the large bouquet of pink and white primroses he carried, hanging carelessly by his side. The flowers were enough to remind her of why she was out in the garden. A fresh wave of disappointment hit her.

“I believe,” she said, but when her words came out in nothing more than a whisper, she cleared her throat and began again. “I believe you’ll find my cousin in the parlor.”

He stopped just beneath the arbor, not two steps from her. As they had earlier, his lips curled into a smirk at one corner of his mouth. This time, there was no mistaking the direction of his gaze. He was, most assuredly, looking at
her
. “When I asked where I would find Miss Lilah Appleton, a rather frantic maid pointed in this direction. Was she mistaken?”

Lilah’s breath caught in her throat. His voice was that of a warrior’s too—sure and commanding but with an underlying edge.
Do not cross me
, that tone warned as much as it promised.
I will fight to the death for you
. She could easily hear him saying those words on a battlefield . . .
or
in a ballroom.
Of course, his attire would be different for each occasion
. . .

She shook the errant thought out of her head.
Bother
. Her imagination was conjuring all sorts of nonsense. Only this time, it wasn’t about a catastrophe. She wondered what that meant, if anything. Distracted by the thought, it took a moment for Lilah’s tongue and lips to find their proper placement. “No.”

This man inquired after
her
. . . and by name? The notion was so outrageous that it refused to settle in her mind. Or in her stomach, it seemed, because it felt as if it were filled with the experimental effervescent wine that Vale and Ivy had served at their wedding, all light and full of bubbles.

The stranger flashed a smile of mostly even teeth, exposing a set of pointed canines at the top and bottom to complete his feral look. “I must admit you do look in need of a breath of air. If bending at the waist aids your intake, then by all means do not let my intrusion interfere.”

A sudden flood of heat burned her cheeks. Just this moment, she was thankful that she’d not given in to the urge to rub her sore bottom. Otherwise, he might have witnessed that too. “You should not mention such things.”

“Breathing?”

“No, the”—she made a subtle gesture in the general direction of her middle—
“other.”

“Am I not to know that you have a waist?
No
, of course not.” He chuckled, mocking her with a shake of his head. “Oh, you highborn and your rules of conduct. Have you nothing better to do with your time?”

Lilah bristled. The euphoric bubbles inside her burst at once. “Pardon me, sir, but we are not acquainted. You know nothing of me, certainly not enough to warrant an insult.”

“Ah, yes, your kind prefers inane flattery and flowers,” he said, smugness etched in the set of his jaw. His gaze swept over her with apparent disregard. “That is why I’m here—with the flowers.”

“But not with
flattery
,” she scoffed.

“As you said, we are not acquainted.” He studied her, leaning in a fraction and creating an intimate space between them. “I could provide compliments enough to make your blush return. However, it has come to my understanding that I should hold my tongue and pretend that I did not notice the nuances of your figure in the same manner that you’d noticed mine when I was walking toward you.”

A breath of incredulity escaped her lungs. She wasn’t certain if she was embarrassed, astounded, or insulted. Likely, it was all three. “Who are you, sir? I demand to know.”